Torn, yet this stretch of night
Is not counterfeit to the eyes.
Purple heart bluffs, as ides
Of each month come hastily by.

Men of conquest, men of honor,
A call to glory is a call to clangor.
Yet still is the restless nightmare
Alive for the wounded warrior.

I have observed brightly lit stores...
window displays welcome
with wide open arms.
Kaleidoscope of colours,
dancing to catchy music...
adding on to the allure and charm.

Droves of shoppers have identified this
as their slice of heaven.
Flagging retail therapy
and finding their
pocket of Eden.

I have observed some laying down.
Relaxing...
unwinding...
On patches of grass.
They stare at the sky
with much adoration,
as wispy clouds float on by.

These skygazers have chosen this
to be their little slice of heaven.
With the ground on their backs,
grass between their toes
and azure as their witness...
this is their pocket of Eden.

I have observed a couple of lovebirds,
seated at a café...
immersed deeply in conversation.
In their own private universe,
their own little bubble.
Employing hugs and frequent pecks as punctuation.

There's nowhere else they'd rather be.
From their eyes I know,
they've found their unique slice of heaven.
In each other
they've found their pocket of Eden.

I have observed myself...
I thought myself to be lost
for the longest time.
Seeking a place
for the voice in my head
that only spoke in rhyme.

All is not lost when
I finally found that place.
My little slice of heaven.
For almost a year ago today
I decided on Hello Poetry
as my pocket of Eden.

it comes
in increments
inches
waves
torrents

there is no doubt
it comes

as errand rider carrying notice
as sense
or sentence

or possession
in the shape of an ember
an inkling
to be cherished or else extinguished

like fire
a most certain feeling
the writer sensing
begins to write
to see what will

not knowing yet
the finishing
or the toil to come

or what's to follow
from that first immediacy
yet knowing that it must follow
and it will

MChallis @2015

Poetry is a river running.

You know it is there and
sometimes you take
long walks on its banks.

One day, a Muse emerges
and calls out your name
in a magikal language.

Suddenly, you know
where you belong.

You jump in, surface,
roll over and float,
but remain immersed
for the rest of your life:

mesmerized, flowing,

speaking only in poems.

  ~mce

This is the place of love gone dormant for the sake of sanity;
Exiles from the hearths of home and kin's polite society.
The caravan of broken sleep/dreams file past the border,
And leave the world alone to hash out it's social order.

The loneliness of the frozen plains stretches and wearies
The hazy eyes of the dreamscape denizens in 1010 series.
The poverty of beggared imagination lies dark in the soul,
And I know too well the losing of what once did console:

Embraces, tender touches, guileless looks and intimacy,
Eyes that touch upon the music of the stars glowing;
And yet more is there you may have ceased knowing...
Merging as one by the fires beneath the mantelpiece.

Her words
Rip across the page
Like bullets
Trailing blood
And broken promises.
Yet there is
Something
Disturbingly peaceful
About unleashing
Her anger

My mind rides the wind and the wind is truly free
but even the wind is subject to a greater freedom

She holds her breath and all is still
and then she blows through the myriad rooted

Across the world of Man who enslave themselves
and do likewise to their fellow Man by acts of delusion

Wind has travelled all and still will not be tamed
her freedom is her gift and it will not be taken from her

She shouts her words silent as night loud as day
but not everyone will hear her or listen to her wisdom.

Strong winds may uproot you
Unsettle your stoic resignation
You will be shaken and stirred
Lot of ponderings and doubts
In the middle of nowhere
When gravity does not give hope
Become a fearless traveler
Encounter the strong winds
No matter where you settle
Continue to spread your roots, deeper
Your soul is still with you
Nothing can stop you from reliving
Every unsettling episode
Will teach you to be more resilient

I saw your name on my phone
I caught my breath and knew I longed
to hear your voice so near
although you are so far, I fear~

I close my eyes and hear your voice
"Are you there? My love, I just wanted to hear
I just want you, my love to be so near~

I have returned in the quiet soft gentle of life
hearing your underlined voice, I cry, I might
get on a plane, if I could, I would
where I would nestle contentedly in the orchid
of our love~

I will continue to write on, into the soft shadows of midnight
I will smile and wait for the day, our muses will write as light
as one~ in passion, desire, in our long lost echoes that need
where the sweet words will be stirred in the gentle breeze
in a world that our hearts will be skipped in our pages
of poetry ~that will close the doors to all except our passion~

"Hello" you said, "Hello, open your door let me in, I will be your
secret sin."

"HELLO"

Indifference is the sad unspoken
   purgatory of an apathetic world